Pink Skin Blue Heart
by Delewal
Summary: A child is born the wrong gender and raised by neglecting parents who are reluctantly supportive nonetheless. Growing through puberty, the young trans boy finds release in the world of Dungeons and Dragons with his friends, desperate to escape his reality of gender, sexuality and school. Trigger warnings - bullying, transphobia, mental illness, depression, anxiety
1. Prologue

Prologue

March 21st, 1992. The doctor declared the baby to be a "lovely, healthy baby girl" as the pink fleece bundle was handed to the exhausted mother. Barely conscious, the father took the initiative in reciting the name to those who would document it. Timantha Tiberius Turner was printed in fine lettering above the weight, date and location of birth. Mr. and Mrs. Turner were delighted by the birth of their first and only born child, and were thrilled that they had thoroughly prepared themselves for the little princess to be coming home.

Little over a day later, the happy family could at last go home. The exhausted Mrs. Turner cradled the wide-eyed newborn, still wrapped in the hospital's pink blanket, a matching pink hat snug on its head. The skies were blue and clear, the air a comfortable chill, and the skyline of trees blurring by the car's speed.

"Welcome home, Timantha!" Called Mr. Turner as he held the door open, allowing his wife to enter and introduce the infant to the new surroundings. With a content sigh, the family of three knew this would be a good turn of events.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Timantha was turning four, and Mrs. Turner had dolled her up in a fitted princess dress matching her small pink cap.

"Mommy, please," whined Timantha, tugging at the ruffles lining the dress. "Don't make me wear it. Mommy, I don't wanna wear it. Boys don't gotta wear it. I wanna wear big boy pants." Her words weren't precisely pronounced, due to her protruding overbite - and her mother ignored her begging due to this, instead of piecing together the whistling lisp.

"Please, Timantha, sit still and be quiet." She said, making a shooing motion with her hands. "This is your special day, you're a big four year old now, and soon you'll go to school with the other kids."

Although no longer speaking, Timantha continued to whine and frown as she tried to subdue her fidgeting. Mrs. Turner finished tying a bow around Timantha's waist before gesturing for her to go off into the livingroom to show of the lovely dress to her father. Obediently, Timantha did as such, twirling slowly and displaying herself as her father videotaped and narrated.

"Big girl's fourth birthday!" Mr. Turner proudly chimed behind the camera. Timantha never smiled, though. Not in that dress, at least.

Later that day, Timantha sat before a small group of family as she opened her gifts. A doll, another new dress, a doll house, new shoes, hair bows, nothing that grasped her interest in the least. Her mother chimed that she should smile and be thankful, but once Timantha unwrapped a sixth doll she had had enough. Throwing the doll, she went into a tantrum.

"No! No! No, no, no!" She screamed, kicking toys and flailing her arms. "No more girl toys!" Hurriedly grabbing one of the dolls, she pulled at the limbs until each one popped of. The limited family gathering stared and gasped, gaping as the parents stood frozen, unsure what to do. "I'm not a girl!" Timantha's voice was straining as the tantrum slipped from anger to grief, tearing at the dress. "I'm not a girl!" This was repeated endlessly until the dress was in tatters, until she stood in only her pink hat and undies, crumbling into sobs. Embarrassed, her mother hurriedly swept Timantha into her arms and rushed up the stairs into Timantha's room.

Flailing and shrieking from being picked up, Timantha's voice grew weak and her limbs tired. Mrs. Turner held her down until, at last, the child calmed. Throaty sobs and muffled sniffles were all that remained alongside a body shaking from exhaustion, Mrs. Turner releasing Timantha so that both settled sitting on the child's bed. Neither knew what to say to release the tension in the air, so the room's silence was easily overthrown by the housed voices downstairs. Mr. Turner was desperately trying to calm the gathering, to explain that children do weird things sometimes, that it was a phase and that Timantha would calm down.

"Why did you do that?" Mrs. Turner hesitantly began, turning to look at the shaking child. "Why did you turn your beautiful dress? Your toys? Why did you say those things?"

"I'm not a girl." Timantha quietly replied, pulling a blanket around her small body.

"What do you mean you're not a girl?" Mrs. Turner questioned softly with a frown.

"I mean I'm not a girl. I don't want pink. I don't want dresses. I don't want dolls. I don't want to look like you. I want to look like daddy."

"If you're a not a girl, then what are you?" Mrs. Turner's frown deepened, concern building.

"I'm a boy." Timantha grumbled, too tired now to shout or cry.

"Then what is your name? If you're not a girl, then you're not Timantha."

"I'm Timmy."

It took a few phone calls, and some angry parent meetings with the principal, but Mr. and Mrs. Turner got the school to respect their child's name in the records - Timothy Tiberius Turner. The toys and dresses that Timmy didn't want were donated away, the only pink remainder being the cap that rested upon his head.

Through the kindergarten summer classes, Timmy made a friend named Chester McBadbat who had complimented his hat. None of children could tell that Timmy was different, they were less concerned about gender identity and more concerned about snack time. The beginning of elementary school went much the same, and Timmy became friends with A.J. who was very advanced for their age. The trio was tight knit; Chester was the jokester, A.J. was the brainiac, and Timmy was the idea man. School was increasingly difficult, but it wasn't until third grade that things took a turn.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Timmy was eight when Mr. and Mrs. Turner began gardening. With Mrs. Turner's OCD, and Mr. Turners obsessively competitive mindset, gardening became more of a lifestyle and less of a hobby. Two hours into an emergency run to Home Depot, Mr. and Mrs. Turner still hadn't realized they left while Timmy was napping and had given no warning of their departure. In a panic, Timmy awoke alone. Three hours in, and Timmy's heart was racing. _Where are they. When will they be back? Will they be back?_ Negative thoughts rushed through his mind, until he crumbled into a heap on the kitchen's tile floor. Sobs turned into sniffles as another hour passed, and before long he found himself digging desperately through a phonebook. It had been six hours since he had last seen or heard from his parents, and Timmy had finally found a reassuring word in the phonebook. _Babysitter._

In his childish desperation, he dialed the number and waited for several rings. Once he heard the fourteen year old's shrill voice pick up on the other end, he began to blubber out his crisis.

"Mommy and daddy gone. Please help. Don't know where. Don't know when. All alone." His broken sentences melded back into sobs, and the young lady took down his address with an unseen grin. Desperation was what she fed on, fear was her delight - but Timmy didn't know that, and neither would his parents.

It was roughly ten o'clock at night when the Turner adults returned, coming home to a quivering child and a welcoming red-head. All it took was a few sly words, a few sneaky gestures, and the ears of uncaring parents before the babysitter convinced the Turner adults that her help would ease their lives of the stress of having a child. Relieved to go back to their gardening, they dismissed any suspicious behavior and went on their merry way.

Little did they know, Timmy was no longer quivering from fear of abandonment, but instead of his new babysitter's sadistic wrath.

"Shut it, twirp!" She shouted when Timmy attempted to call out to his parents once more. It was too late, they were lost in their own world outside. Dwindling into whimpers, Timmy backed away but it was no use. He was within her grasp.

"Vicky, please.." He whined, with no prevail.

"You're mine now, twirp." She grinned, looming over his petrified form. "And you'll wish you really had been abandoned in the first place."

Vicky quickly discovered that it was easy to overpower Timmy, with his petite childish and female form. Being six years older, and therefore six years bigger, made Vicky's games almost too easy.

Timmy often fled to the safety of his friends' homes whenever he could, but more often than not his parent wouldn't allow it.

"Stay home and do your homework." His father would chime.

"Vicky will help you, you should also do your chores." His mother would add.

They didn't realize the way he cringed whenever Vicky was mentioned, or the shakiness of his voice when he would ask for torturing instead of Vicky's help. They were oblivious, and worsley, they didn't want to know in the first place. Having a child was becoming more of a nuisance than a gift, a sidetrack to their real focus - gardening, and competing with the neighbors (the Dinklebergs) for the title of best in town. Mrs. Turner's controlling OCD didn't help ease the situation of its tension, and Mr. Turner was too passive to seek any sort of help. Gardening would've been more of a laughing matter, if it weren't the fact it had become a trigger that Timmy despised with all of his typically meek spirit.


End file.
